


The End of the World

by dontworryaboutanything



Series: Abe [7]
Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Friends to more, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Second Person Fic, kind of a breakup? but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:47:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25391116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontworryaboutanything/pseuds/dontworryaboutanything
Summary: Prompt: somewhere along the way of getting into bar fights together, staying up all night with movie marathons, other friendship things, I’ve fallen in love with you but oh my god this could ruin EVERYTHINGA look at Abe and the attorney before the mansion."It was two in the morning, and Abe was utterly fucked."
Relationships: Abe | The Detective/Y/N | The District Attorney (Who Killed Markiplier?)
Series: Abe [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/915993
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

It was two in the morning, and Abe was utterly fucked.  
__

Once, he joked in your ear that he thought you looked damn good with your knuckles bruised, having watched you punch a creepy stranger out in the bar residing below your shabby apartment. You were both drunk, and you winked when he grinned and he almost fell off his stool pretending to be struck by it. It was funny, and he wasn’t at all staring.

__

Like he wasn’t staring as you sat on the edge of his tub, hand running under cold water to ease the ache, and you cried so quietly he could only feel it when you shook, close to his side.

You didn’t take the case, you could physically not take the case, but the accused criminal sat across from you during the meeting and told you every detail of a murder anyway. Being a lawyer, a defense lawyer, was supposed to mean helping the innocent. Not everyone is innocent.  
His mirror lays in pieces, you’re drunk and angry and heartbroken at the world, he has never been more afraid.

__

That time, the time you punched the man rather than the glass, he didn’t take care of your hand, but he rubbed little circles into it that night, having stumbled up to your apartment when closing came around. It was two in the morning, and he was sitting on the floor in front of the TV so you could have the couch as you watched cable, and you draped your hand on his shoulder like it would ground you when the room started to spin.  
He made popcorn on your stove without burning anything down and you threw it in the air for him to catch in his mouth. You shared a cup of water.

You talked about the world ending like it would happen soon, and he laughed and called you a drunk idiot.

__

”You won’t be fired for this.” He said, not knowing if it were true, sitting by you on the tub.

“It is under investigation. It is all gray area with the firm, he wasn’t technically protected by lawyer-client confidentiality but it’s a bad wrap for me to have repeated what he said to the police. Nobody will want to hire someone who can’t keep their mouth shut.”

“You should be a prosecutor, anyway.”

“I can’t save anyone either way.”

He closed his eyes, shook his head. He hadn’t changed from the day yet. His wallet was heavy on his hip.

“Nobody can.”

__

He wasn’t touchy, usually. Neither of you were. It seemed like something to be together, then, though. So he allowed himself to lean on your shoulder when you pulled him out on the ice, one night. It was the dead of winter, and he’d asked for your help on a case states away where it actually meant something to be winter. He promised a favor in return, and so you drove him out to the middle of nowhere in the night like a goddamn serial killer.

”When we fall through, I will not pull you out.” He said, lying, and almost fell immediately as his shoe caught a wet spot of the frozen pond. You could barely keep him up, but managed to not let him topple.

“You bitch. I just saved your life,” You joked, and he could already not feel his fingers, but he wasn’t cold at all.

__

“I should have been a detective. At least I’d know the truth of what I was saying. How many wrong people have I done right by?”

“You think I know the truth of a goddamn thing? It is so much guesswork, nothing is ever pieced together entirely, it is just me stumbling in the dark. You aren’t doing anything wrong by trying to help the people you believe in. You aren’t a bad person.”

You won’t meet his eyes. The cold water is so cold you can’t feel your hand, and he reaches over to turn it off without being told. Your knuckles are bruised.

“You don’t know that that’s true.”

Its all just guesswork.

__

“Don’t be a coward.” You scold, always teasing, always gentle just with him even as you push him out to slide around on his own.

“I shoot bad guys for a living!”

“You smoke shitty cigarettes at a typewriter while light comes in through your dramatic ugly blinds and you contemplate if your client’s legs are that long because she’s stretched the truth of her husband’s divorce claim too much.”

“Fuck you.” He says, and nods anyway while laughing so hard he’d be embarrassed if it were anyone else, anywhere else.

You lie down on the ice, stare at the stars. There is no light pollution, and suddenly he realizes how quiet it is.

“It feels like we’re entirely alone.” You say, as if you can read his mind.

“Maybe we are. World ending, and all that.”

You roll your eyes and he notices he is watching them when he catches it. He looks up, and wonders why he hardly sees you smile during the day, why you’re always only together alone like this at night.

The stars are endless.

__

“I know you try to be good. That’s a hell lot more than you can say about most.”

“I don’t want to lose everything Abe. I’ve been working so hard.”

He nods, but he knew that already, and he knows you didn’t say it just to say it. “What are you going to do?”

You rub your palm against your eyes so hard the pressure brings droplets of blood to the broken skin of your knuckles again. He gets up to get a bandage, this time, gives you time without him looking.

“I got offered a job today.”

__

He broke into your apartment.

Technically, he didn’t break anything, but the door was locked and he was in your kitchen.

“… Why?”

“I owed you dinner.”

You stare at the open window and think about the firescape and the fights you’ve had at the bar below and consider new window locks. He has already scribbled it on a note and put it with the fifteen things you have under the only magnet on your fridge. On top of that is a note reading ‘magnets’.

“I hate you.” You lie.

The apartment smells better than it ever has. You fridge is fuller than it had ever been.

He hopes you know he worries, just quietly, when you mention your workload and bad habits. You don’t thank him, and he feels relieved.

You give him a key after you eat, and he doesn’t thank you, and he doesn’t let it out of his palm until he is in his own kitchen.

He feels less at home when he leaves your company more daily. He puts it away.

All of it.

__

“Why would the mayor-”

“We were college friends. We fell out of touch, after, but Damien keeps tabs on the people he cares about.”

“Cares about, or can use?”

“He isn’t using me.”

“No, he’s bribing you.”

You are so angry your skin is heating up under his hand as he wraps your knuckles, but when you don’t pull away he knows it isn’t at him. He thinks about the young, handsome, earnest mayor. He may not have done it. Why come to a desperate old friend rather than someone meant for this?

And he knows that’s an insult to you, he does.

“I don’t know what to do.” You’re not asking for advice.

“Is this about helping someone you care about or getting the ADA position?”

You stare, and he doesn’t recognize you for a moment, your eyes look so blank.

“I used to think I was in love with him.” You say, like it is nothing.

He feels himself pull the bandage too tight and you glance at it. He pauses, doesn’t apologize, and you are relieved.

You speak before he can. “I wasn’t.”

It is so plain, and he wonders if it is meant to mean a thing at all.

“You shouldn’t do this.”

“What should I do?” You finally ask, finally look at him again, and his stomach drops.

Kiss me. Stay here. Forget about everything and let it try to get better. 

Forget about the mayor.

Love me instead. Love me for real.

He drops his eyes to the floor. It could ruin everything.

“I can’t fix this. I don’t know how to. I don’t want you to do this.” He says, as honest as he can be.

“What should I do?” You ask again, a little sadder and he laughs without warmth. 

“Whatever you want.”

So you stand, and walk from the bathroom, and he stands where he stood for a long moment, expecting to hear the front door. Your blood is still in the sink. The glass is on the floor and he should pick it up. The front door never comes.

When he walks out from the bathroom, your shoes are tucked neatly besides the bed, and you are under the covers dead asleep.

He should go to the couch.

He takes off only his shoes, and lies on top of the covers, and you wake up like you always do when he moves beside you while you sleep.

How many times have you slept in the same space without ever sharing it?

“Don’t be an idiot.” You say, so he takes off his belt and coat finally, puts his wallet on the night stand, moves under the covers.

You move close, and he blames the alcohol, and holds you anyway. Pulls you close under an arm as he lays on his back, lets you rest your head on his chest.  
His ugly blinds make lines down your face, and he falls asleep like its easy.

Nothing is easy.

_  
He wakes to you gone, the note under a magnet on his fridge just a scribbled ‘sorry’. Under it is the same note he left you, crumbled and worn, reading ‘magnets’. All the rest of his magnets are gone, and he laughs, and he knows you took the case before its on the morning news.  
And he loves you. And it could ruin everything.  
It ruins everything.

How can you not want the best of someone you love? And he sees the worst of you walk into a courthouse with a bandaged hand the next day as he exits from his testimony on another case.

He leaves your key on the inside of your windowsill.  
Neither of you call.  
__

When the end of the world comes so soon, he thinks about you drunk on your couch, rambling to the ceiling.  
You are gone.

The world is as over as it will ever be.


	2. Magnets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally talk about it. Slightly suggestive ending to this one, but nothing explicit.

"I should have called you." He says. He is sitting on the window sill with his feet hanging out over the fire escape so he can chain smoke without losing the security deposit.  
You've been back a year now, and it's the first time he brings up a 'before' that isn't the manor. 

"I don't think so. I didn't expect you to." You get up from the couch to pluck the cigarette from his mouth and put it out on the frame. He pouts. You smile. 

"Was he innocent? Damien?" 

"You met him, of course he was." 

He ducks entirely outside when you motion for him to, sits on a metal step and you take his place in the sill. It's a warm night for Spring, and he relishes in the fact that he knows the season for once. 

"Then I should've called." He says, and you shrug. 

"You didn't know him. I didn't know for sure. I was working on instinct and it was as selfish as you knew it was."

"We both know I've done my fair share of selfishness."

You grin. "Hardly. What's the most selfish thing you've done, Abe?"  
He thinks, and bites his tongue. He reaches for his pocket and you move across the space to stop him, kneeling in front of where he's sitting.  
You shake your head.

"What's it going to do? Kill me?" 

Neither of you laugh, and he hands over the pack.

"You need to find out like you need a hole in the chest." 

Now you laugh, and he moves over so you can shift a foot to rest beside him on the narrow stairs, legs extended over the space haphazardly when you move back to the windowsill.

"I didn't call you." He says, and you blink before you remember the question.

"How was that selfish?"

"Because you're not only always going to be the version of you I think is best, and I'm not going to be, and I should've stayed through it. But I didn't know what I'd say."

You lean to take his hand, just for a moment, and relax back. "I knew what I was doing, I knew it was going to hurt us both, I knew you wouldn't be able to stand it. I didn't call either. We both let that time be lost."  
He admires endlessly how easy you say the right words, and if he hadn't seen you in a courtroom before he'd imagine it now. It wasn't just kind, but it was kind. 

"I shouldn't have been cold at the manor. The second we got there I felt like I was going to snap, like I was pulled thin and paranoid. I was playing a role. You would have knocked my ass out of it." 

You nodded just to make him smile again. "Damn right. Neither of us can change the things we've done, though. We're here. That's enough."

"Let me drive you home. It's getting late. We can work on the rest tomorrow."

"I'll sleep on your couch."

"I'll sleep on my couch. You take the bed." 

You squeeze the windowsill in your hands where you brace yourself. The silence stretches out and you sit stiller than you'd been before. The city traffic is a comfortable distraction for you both so neither of you have to say what you know you want to.  
Eventually, though, he looks at you, and he raises an eyebrow. You know, you both know, there's enough unsaid already.

"We'll share the bed." You admit, because it is inevitable you'd pull him with you anyway. 

He nods, and rubs his face with both hands.  
Then he stands and pulls you from the windowsill so he doesn't need to lean so far to kiss you. 

You can't breathe, for a second, and then your arms are around your neck and your legs are around his waist and you can taste cigarettes.  
It's desperate and hungry and your mouths are open enough that when you have to pant to let it last you know you're only breathing his air.  
Your back is against the cold brick of the building beside the window and he keep grabbing your hair gently enough it doesn't hurt but firm enough you know he doesn't want this to stop as much as you don't. Your stomach is on fire and when you both pull back for a moment his eyes are too, and you never want to be further than this. 

"You taste like smoke." You say, blinking fast to try to think. He nods and looks like he might laugh but his eyes drift back to your mouth and everything on his face goes back to want, and you lean in this time. He's pressing against you, you don't know where you end and it is perfect.

It doesn't slow down, and his hat falls off, and you don't mind the smoke now. It is all fuzzy at your fingertips, there's something buzzing with the touch that closes everything else out. He holds your waist and you push him back enough to lower your legs and stand again, but any space is closed again in seconds, you don't know by which of you. He's taller, but if his neck gets sore he doesn't show it. His lips drift to your neck and you have to hold a hand over your mouth.

You don't know how he manages it when he pulls back. 

He takes three steps back, and then looks at you as you try to catch your breath and his eyes trace your flushed cheeks and glazed eyes.  
He takes two steps forward, clenches his fist tight and takes one back.

He bits his own lip now instead of yours, his arm is long enough he doesn't need to move forward to cup your face firmly. He tilts it up, examines your neck for marks, but when you rest your chin back against his hand his eyes find your face again. 

"I wasn't done." You say, because you know he can tell, and he swears. He pulls back entirely, and goes as far away in the small space as he can. 

"We need to talk."

"You don't want to."

"No. I want to kiss you. But I can kiss you tomorrow."

"Can you?" You challenge, and he finally pulls himself together enough to look a hint of smug. He gestures. 

You laugh, and he walks forward again because he can't help it. 

The fever is gone, it's soft, and he's smiling against your lips. It still feels impossible to stop, and so you have to stop, and when you put a hand on his chest he moves to kiss your forehead and pull you into a hug. 

"Is this going to be hard?" You ask, and he kisses your temple now. That's an answer, and you feel yourself relax a little.

"I don't want this to be just this, I don't want this to be just now." It comes out clumsy, he has never had a way with words, and you nod. "Do you know what I mean?" 

It takes you a long time to close your eyes and put your arms back around him. 

"I told you I thought I loved Damien. I didn't know that I didn't until I met you. It was easier to mess it up than feel it."

You don't realize you're crying until he pulls back, you try not to let him see. 

"Did messing it up work? To not feel it?"

You gesture broadly and realize he is making you laugh on purpose as it falls out. You want to taste smoke again.  
He backs up and you can tell he is forcing himself by the way he's staring.

"Behave. Tomorrow."

You take a long time to nod, it's hard to, and you both are frozen in place for a moment because the tension is too thick to touch without ripples. 

"We should go in. It's getting late." 

Neither of you move. Once it lasts long enough to be funny you can finally pull in a breath and will yourself to move back through the window. You face away as he follows, study the couch.

You glace up and he's still only just inside the window, and you roll your eyes. You look at anything but him. Your eyes find his fridge. "You still need magnets."

It's a silly thing to remember, you know, and it's sillier that all the tension snaps at once and he's across the room in a few long strides to kiss you again.

"You know? Actually fuck tomorrow."

Your body is solid, and yours, and you are alive or something like it. You both are here. 

You think about the world ending, for the first time in a long time, and smile. "Fuck tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kindly,  
> fuck tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> I figured it was about time I moved this here, now that I've finally written a follow up. So much love always for reading, guys. Always love and value comments so much, but never any obligation.


End file.
